Sinful Lies (Sinful #2)

Chapter 32

Chapter

Thirty-Two

“Never love anyone who treats you like you're ordinary.”

― Oscar Wilde

Jade

“It’s the third time I’ve saved your life, Miss Whitenhouse. Starting to think you’ve got a death wish,” Angelo drawled, handing me the tea like a peace offering.

The first time was years ago, pulling me out of jail.

The second was in the woods.

And now, tonight.

I rolled my eyes, wrapping my fingers around the cup just to steady the tremor in my hands. The steam curled against my skin, but it was the burn in my throat that anchored me.

“Did it ever cross your mind that maybe I didn’t want to be saved, Lazzio?”

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he dropped onto the bed, sprawling like a king reclaiming his throne. His bare chest caught the low light, infuriatingly perfect.

“Oh, I’ve thought about it,” he said. “But then it hits me—only you could tear me to pieces like this. One minute, I’m sure I’ve lost you for good. The next, you’re kissing me like I’m the only thing keeping you alive. Then you vanish, leaving me with this fucking hole, wondering if this is the time you’ll never come back.”

His gaze locked on mine.

“Tell me, Miss Whitenhouse—do you enjoy seeing how far you can push me? Watching me claw at the edge of my sanity just to keep you next to me?”

I set the cup down carefully, the soft clink of porcelain against wood the only sound between us.

Standing, I let the silence stretch as I walked to the bed, feeling his stare burn into my skin.

“Complaining, Lazzio?”

“Not even a little. In fact…I’m starting to think you might kill me, Jade. And you know what?”

I tilted my head.

“I’d let you.”

My heart sank.

If only he knew.

“Don’t start with the sweet talk. For all you know, I might want your head on a stick—for every damn headache you’ve ever given me.”

“Bet you do.”

The corner of my mouth twitched despite myself. Damn it.

I crawled onto the bed.

His hands found my hips when I straddled him, his grip rough.

His breath warmed my skin as I brushed my fingers along his jaw, the stubble rough under my touch.

I let my lips hover over his. “Thanks. For tonight.”

“Anything for you, amore. ”

Before I could process the words, his hand was at the back of my neck, pulling me in, his lips crashing against mine.

Oh, for the love of ? —

I grabbed his face, deepening the kiss, swallowing any trace of doubt or reason.

This was the kind of numbness I needed—the kind only he could give.

For just a moment, I wanted to forget everything: who he was, who I was, the blood on his hands, and the wreckage I was planning to leave behind.

I wanted him, needed him like a drug—in me, on me, every messy, broken inch of him.

As if he knew exactly what I needed, he flipped me effortlessly, his weight pressing me into the bed as I found myself beneath him, my legs instinctively wrapping around his waist.

He lingered above me. “I need to know what happened outside before I can fuck you, Jade.”

“Stop trying to be sweet, Lazzio. That’s not what I need from you.”

“What is it you do need then, Miss Whitenhouse?”

I let my nails scrape lightly down his skin, just enough to make him shiver, before letting my hands drop to his waist.

“You,” I breathed, pushing my hips up against his. “You, inside me. Right now.”

My fingers made quick work of his belt and zipper, shoving his pants down just enough before pulling him closer.

The truth of what happened tonight?

It couldn’t slip from my lips.

Not yet, not until I did what I needed to do.

How the hell could I explain the panic attack that had nearly swallowed me whole?

That every Christmas for the past six years, I spent it alone—curled up in my bed with a bottle of cheap wine, a sappy movie on the screen, all to help me forget.

To help me forget that they were gone.

That I’d never see them again.

And that the only thing left to look forward to was this cold, empty existence.

Alone.

And it was all because of him .

The fact that my body betrayed me, craved him—every single time, it made me sick.

It made me want to take a blade to my own heart for allowing myself to need him, for feeling this twisted hunger for a man who wasn’t supposed to exist in my world.

A man who—whether I wanted to admit it or not—had become my weakness.

But I just need it once .

Just once to fall into the abyss of lust, to give in to him fully, so I could take everything I needed from him.

Once I had him out of my system, then killing him would be easy.

“You sure?”

I nodded. “ Sì. ”

Angelo’s fingers toyed with the hem of my T-shirt— his T-shirt—and in one smooth motion, he pulled it over my head.

I wasn’t wearing anything underneath.

The cool air hit my skin, but his eyes set me on fire.

He didn’t rush.

Of course, the bastard didn’t.

His hands found my hips first, calloused palms burning trails into me as he leaned in, his lips brushing my neck. Soft at first, maddeningly so, before he kissed me, deeper, hungrier.

Then he went lower.

My breath hitched, sharp and shaky, as his lips hovered over my nipple.

He didn’t dive in right away; no, he had to be cruel about it.

A flick of his tongue, a soft circle, and then his mouth closed around it, and my brain short-circuited.

His voice was low, rough against my skin. “Say it again. Tell me how much you need my dick inside you.”

Bastard.

Hot, overbearing, sexy, evil bastard.

“I want your dick inside me, Lazzio. So deep I feel it every time I move. So deep it’s all I can fucking think about.” I tilted my head. “Happy now?”

His grip tightened, and the way his eyes darkened told me I’d either won… or doomed myself entirely.

“Oh, happy doesn’t even begin to cover it.”

Hell broke loose, and it was way better than I could have ever imagined.

He flipped me, tits squished against the mattress as his knee wedged between my legs, spreading them.

He yanked down his boxers and drove into me in one rough, unrelenting thrust that knocked the air right out of my lungs.

“Oh—”

His hand slapped over my mouth, cutting off my scream. “You wanted it, amore ,” he growled against my ear, his voice dripping with that infuriating mix of arrogance and sin that made me hate how much I loved it.

My muffled gasp turned into a moan as he pulled me back, my teeth grazing his palm.

His other hand slid down to my hip, holding me in place as he set a pace that made me see stars, or maybe the devil.

My fingers clawed at the sheets, desperate for something to hold on to as he took me apart.

My eyes rolled back, my body arching involuntarily with every thrust.

I could feel him everywhere .

He was way too big for me.

“Deep enough for you, Miss Whitenhouse?” His voice was a little breathless, the sound of it shooting straight between my legs as his hips slammed into mine, his hips smacking against my ass.

Yes.

Yes, oh fuck, yes.

I shook my head, biting down harder on his palm to stifle the needy noises crawling up my throat.

He chuckled darkly. “No? Wrong answer.”

Before I could blink, he pulled out, his cock leaving me achingly empty.

A desperate whine escaped me as I tried to push back, but his hand came down hard on my ass, the crack of the slap echoing in the room.

Tears blurred my vision as the sting spread, sharp and electric, but before I could so much as curse him out, I felt his tongue. Warm and wet, dragging up the length of my spine like he wanted to devour me.

“Fuck,” he groaned. “I’ve dreamed of licking this tattoo for years , Jade. But you already knew that, didn’t you?”

His tongue swirled over the ink, tracing every line like he was worshipping it.

“That’s why you wore all those fucking backless dresses,” he whispered, his breath hot against my skin. “Strutting into my office like a little slut, like you didn’t fucking notice me staring, like you didn’t want me to fantasize about this—about you.”

His mouth trailed lower , his tongue tracing the curve of my ass, his teeth grazing the soft flesh there before his head dipped further.

And then his tongue was between my legs.

Wait, I thought he didn’t go down on women?

One, two, three strokes of his warm tongue delved deep into my pussy.

I gasped his name, half a curse, half a prayer. “Angelo?—”

Before I could catch my breath, he yanked my hair, forcing me up onto my knees.

My back arched sharply, head thrown back as his grip on me didn’t falter. His face hovered above mine, upside down and full of something primal, his mouth crashing onto mine in a messy, savage kiss.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t cute.

It was him owning me, taking whatever I had left to give.

He pulled away just enough to spread my legs wider, his knee forcing them apart as he lined himself up again. And then— God —then he slammed into me, so hard and so deep I screamed.

Loud. Raw. For the entire damn world to hear me.

My body betrayed me completely, any shred of control gone.

I moved with him, faster, rougher, meeting every thrust, every punishing slam of his hips, like I couldn’t get enough.

“ Sì, amore ,” he said. “You fucking love that, don’t you? Taking me like this—letting me ruin you.”

His teeth scraped my neck as his hand dug into my hips

“Tell me, Jade,” he hissed. “Tell me how much you fucking love being mine tonight.”

I closed my eyes, the sensation being too much. “Yes, I love it so much, Lazzio.”

I bit my lip, choking on a sob as his hand left my hip to wrap around my throat, pulling me up against his chest.

“Look at you,” he whispered against my ear. “Screaming for me. Is that what you needed?”

“Yes,” I gasped.

My head lolled back onto his shoulder, his hand tightening just enough to make me dizzy.

“I thought you hated me, amore ,” he murmured, biting down on my shoulder hard enough to make me cry out. “You hate me, and yet here you are, begging for my cock. Needing it.”

His other hand slipped lower, finding my clit and teasing it in time with his thrusts.

Tears blurred my vision, a sob tearing from my throat as he pushed me further.

“I’ll give you everything you need, amore . I’ll ruin you so thoroughly you won’t remember how to breathe without me.”

And he did.

Over and over.

Until there was nothing left of me.

As my orgasm ripped through me, my scream was swallowed by the mattress beneath me. My body trembled uncontrollably, my nails clawing into the sheets as Angelo didn’t let up—not even for a second. He kept pounding into me, relentless, dragging every ounce of pleasure from me until I thought I’d break in two.

And then, just as the aftershocks of my orgasm left me boneless, he pulled out, letting me collapse forward, my entire body flat against the bed.

I felt the heat of his gaze on me before I even turned my head, my cheek pressing into the mattress as I looked over my shoulder.

There he was, standing over me, his cock gripped in his hand—slick, hard, and oh so freaking big.

His eyes locked on mine, dark and ravenous.

“Stay just like that.”

Him jerking off just above my ass? Best fucking show I’ve ever seen.

I couldn’t move, didn’t even want to.

His gaze dropped to my back, following the curve of my spine, right to the ink etched on my skin.

“You drive me fucking insane, Jade,” he growled, teeth gritted, his hand working faster. “This tattoo, this body… all of it.”

I let a breath out, running my tongue over my lips. “Then come on it.”

He cursed under his breath, and I felt it a second later—hot and thick—as his cum coated my skin. It dripped over my tattoo, marking me.

He gasped, chest heaving, but his eyes never left mine.

“ Bellissima ,” he muttered, almost to himself, his hand gliding over my lower back, smearing his mess into my skin.

For a moment, as I lay there, breathless and tangled in something dangerously addictive, I realized I’d just made a fool of myself.

Now that I’d had a taste of what it was like to be fucked by him, there was no going back.

All I could think was— more .

I wanted it all.

“Do you get them often?”

I sucked in a shaky breath as his fingers traced lazy patterns down my back.

My head was on his chest, right over the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

So annoyingly calm. Meanwhile, I was trying not to spiral.

Our legs were tangled, and there wasn’t a single part of me that wasn’t pressed against him.

We fit together too perfectly, like he’d been cut from the exact mold to fill the hollow ache in my chest. But instead of fixing it, he just made me hyper-aware of how broken I actually was.

By them, I knew exactly what he’d meant—my panic attacks.

Great. My favorite topic.

I closed my eyes as his hand slid up to stroke my hair, and for a second, I pretended he wasn’t waiting for an answer.

“Rarely,” I finally muttered. “Only certain things set me off.”

“Like thinking about your family.”

“Yeah.”

“Ever considered that talking about them could set you free?”

I snorted, burying my face in his chest. “Set me free? I don’t think talking is going to magically fix me, Lazzio.”

I couldn’t.

I wouldn’t.

I just wanted to stay like this, safe in his arms.

God, I hated this—hated how those ghosts hovered. Always there, reminding me of how much of a disappointment I was.

His arm tightened around me, pulling me closer.

His hand kept moving slowly, stroking my hair, his breath steady against the top of my head. I felt his chest rise and fall beneath me, the rhythm so solid, so dependable, that for a moment I let myself match it.

“Did you ever try to find the man who kidnapped you?”

He let out a low, humorless chuckle. “Ah, so you get to ask the questions, but I don’t?”

I tilted my head, smirking as he shifted, propping himself up on one elbow. His arm rested on the pillow, his hand lazily cradling my face.

“Yes.”

His finger traced the curve of my jaw, sliding down my neck.

It was slow— intoxicating .

He hummed softly. “And why’s that, Miss Whitenhouse?”

“Because you dragged me on this trip. The least you could do is keep me entertained. Answering my questions seems like a good place to start.”

His finger trailed lower, skimming over my chest, my stomach, before slipping between my legs to the sensitive flesh there.

“Entertained?” he murmured, his voice edged with mockery. “I thought the orgasm I just gave you—the one you screamed loud enough for every Lazzio in the mansion to hear—was proof you’ve been enjoying your stay, amore .”

His finger circled my clit.

“Nah,” I breathed out, fighting to steady my voice. “I was faking it.”

His hand stilled. “Oh, really?”

I shrugged, grabbing his face and pulling him closer until my lips brushed his, the barest hint of a kiss. His finger stopped moving entirely, replaced by the grip of his other hand on my chin.

“Then you’re a better liar than I gave you credit for, Miss Whitenhouse.”

He didn’t give me a chance to say anything else. His lips slammed into mine, making me lose my breath.

I shifted, straddling him.

I was itching to test that stupid rumor.

Eating me out? Check.

Though I was slightly disappointed it had lasted only a few seconds.

It was time to see if that “only fucks from behind” thing held up.

I wanted to see if he’d stop me.

He was already thick and hot against his stomach, and I ground down onto him, the slickness between my legs coating him as I moved slowly, my hands pressed flat against his chest, my tits tight and aching.

He released me, arms folding behind his head, watching with a lazy look in his eye.

I threw my head back, a hot, tight feeling spreading in my stomach, my hair falling behind me.

“You look so fucking good right now,” he muttered, voice rough.

I shot him a smile, the heat in my cheeks growing as I picked up the pace, my pussy grinding against his cock so deliciously I almost saw stars.

“Answer me, Lazzio.”

His tongue flicked across his lips. “Why do you wanna know?”

“Because I want to feel close to you.”

I grabbed his cock, yanking him to my entrance, and sank down slowly, taking every inch of him deep inside me.

That position? One of my favorites. Men at my mercy, eyes wide with desperation as I took what I wanted, pushed them to the edge of their control. I fucking loved it.

There was something about knowing I held the power.

I rode him, my tits bouncing wildly, my body slapping against his, and his curses lit the fuse on my own insanity.

His hands gripped my hips, digging in, pulling me harder against him.

“Isn’t this close enough, Jade?”

“No,” I breathed out. “It isn’t.”

His eyes sparkled with mischief as he grabbed my waist, flipped me onto my back, and slammed into me missionary style, his lips crashing against mine.

“And what about this?”

I let out a moan, my nails digging into his back, legs wrapped around him.

He was so close— too close—that I could see the tiny gold specks in his eyes.

Missionary and cowgirl? Check.

Yeah, that rumor? Total bullshit.

I couldn’t keep control any longer.

Cursing under my breath, I came; my eyes squeezed shut, and I sank my teeth into his lower lip.

He groaned into my mouth, his tongue brushing against my lips before he pulled away and came all over my thigh.

He grinned, watching me prop myself up on my arms as his finger scooped up some of his release and smeared it across my lips. I licked it off like it was the best treat I’d ever had.

He grabbed my chin and kissed me deep.

Pulling back, his voice low just above a whisper. “I just know one thing, Jade. The city where he held me hostage… was Boston.”